Becoming a Parisienne (Part one)
Day 1 – February 6, 2020
After a long flight anywhere, my body tends to go into a shutdown mode, even after a restorative nap. That is why I rarely plan anything substantial to do at the beginning of any trip. Normally, I stay close to the hotel, or in the case for my recent trip to Paris, close to my apartment in the Marais.
There is always an element of rediscovering a place after you’ve been away. Like returning to your hometown or a city you know well, you nostalgically seek out what is old which you love best. Then, you look for changes hoping they’ll be positive ones.
SWAMPY TO SWANKY
My neighborhood in Paris is in the 3rd Arrondisment, an area frequently described as being historic, scenic and romantic. Some people jokingly label the quartier “swampy to swanky” as it used to a swamp back in the middle ages. I call it edgy, bohemian, and on-the-verge of being too chic for its own good. But I love it as it is also home to the most beautiful square in Paris—La Place des Vosges built by Henri IV in the early 17th century—and boasts some of the finest small museums in town including the Picasso, Carnavalet, and Cognacq Jay for starters. The Marais is a quartier which embraces a diverse population of artists, gays and lesbians, and Parisians from all economic backgrounds. It’s also home to a lively Jewish community centered around the Jewish Museum of Art and History.
Today, the Marais is in a constant state of flux with new art galleries, up-and-coming fashion designers, and pop-ups swapping out with each other on a monthly basis. Locals bemoan our current high rate of gentrification, too. On my last trip, I discovered that the ultra-trendy Pierre Hermé, La Durée and Pôilaine pastry and bread shops had set up outposts in our hood. While unquestionably good for increasing real estate value, these new additions have met with much consternation from older residents as the newcomers have displaced small, neighborhood purveyors some of whom have been there for generations.
IT ALL STARTS WITH FOOD IN FRANCE
After a quick bite at a local bistro, plus a two-hour nap, I headed to our main food shopping street, Rue de Bretagne, to investigate any new shifts in the neighborhood. I also needed to pick up some coffee and orange juice. Luckily, most of the old standards were still there: the Franprix mini supermarket, Nicolas wine shop, the local boulanger/pâtisserie, our family-run artisanal cheese shop, and my favorite store of all, a hole-in-the-wall boutique for pork products, Caractère de Cochon. About the size of an average American master bathroom, every millimeter of this shop is devoted to the most delicious selection of cured meats: sausages of every imaginable shape and hams, cooked and smoked, from France, Italy and Spain—many flavored with exotic herbs and spices. The pervasive earthy, smoky aroma makes me almost swoon in anticipation each time I walk through the door. I chatted with the gregarious owner and purchased some thinly sliced Jambon de Paris as I was craving a simple Jambon-beurre sandwich for my dinner later that evening.
WHERE THE COMMUNITY GATHERS
This picturesque shopping street, the culinary soul of the neighborhood, is located next to a small park. Everyone, young and old, congregates here to enjoy its playground, ornate band shell, and lake packed with colorful ducks. The local City Hall or Mairie, as it is called in French, overlooks the park’s peaceful, meticulously landscaped setting. I noticed that bright red Chinese lanterns hung from lamp posts around the park’s circumference. This was surprising as I did not know Parisians celebrated Chinese New Year as we do. But, pourquoi pas?
Selecting a seat on one of the many dark green, wooden benches, I endeavored to make some progress on a knitting project I had in my bag. As I was still a bit spacy from the time difference, I was less successful with my sweater than with people watching. This is always a calming way to ease into a quiet Parisian lifestyle, the one thing I continually aspire to on my various trips to France.
HERE COMES ANOTHER PROTEST
The calm was shattered with a sudden blast of “bong-bong” siren of careening police cars filling up the street. The ominous sound always terrifies me as it recalls the tragic movie, Anne Frank, when the Gestapo come to collect the young, main character and cart her off to a concentration camp. A parade of 20 some gendarmes on motorcycles, followed by a brigade of bright red fire trucks and ambulances sped by. As my neighborhood is located between the Bastille and Place de la République, I was smack in the middle of where most of the recent protests have taken place. Naturally, this commotion was disquieting. Should I head home for safety, I contemplated for a moment? Instead I decided to walk towards the Seine River in the opposite direction from the commotion.
My Goddaughters, Zoe and Mei, had given me a book for Christmas called The Seine, The River that Made Paris by Elaine Sciolino. This thoughtfully researched and beautifully written book—on the history, geography and people who earn their livelihood from the river—would serve as a guidebook for daily walks along the Seine during my stay. So, on day one I sauntered over to the Seine River, only a few blocks away. I crossed over to Ile St. Louis, and then joined Ile de La Cité to investigate the progress on Notre Dame’s reconstruction after its devasting fire last spring.
NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL RISES FROM THE ASHES
Seeing the church girdled in scaffolding, tenting and looming construction cranes resembling menacing praying mantises was tragically sad but at the same time hopeful. An outdoor photo exhibit by Patrick Zachman, from Magnum Agency, documented both the recent fire and the high-tech reconstruction project underway. It was reassuring to learn more about how France and the international community planned to restore Notre Dame to its original splendor.
Meandering back home, I thought of the French verb “flâner” and how perfectly it described what I was doing. This is an old-fashioned expression coined by Baudelaire, the 19th century French poet, to describe the act of aimlessly wandering with no goal except to people watch and soak in the essence of a city. And, why not? Paris is the ultimate city to flâner.
YANN COUVREUR—HERE I COME
As I regained the Marais, which straddles the Seine River on the Right Bank, I crisscrossed back home through the Jewish quarter. I was no longer wandering aimlessly, however, as I had a serious destination in mind: Yann Couvreur’s new pastry shop. Located smack in the middle of Rue des Rosiers, a long street lined with Jewish delis and restaurants selling falafel and shawarma sandwiches, Couvreur has opened his second patisserie in Paris. It is the quintessential, elegant pastry shop filled with the most exquisite looking pastries, breakfast treats and wholesome breads. While there were no baguettes left, I wasn’t going home empty handed. I left with a selection of breakfast pastries to have on hand for my morning petit déjeuners at home.
Luckily, I found a baguette on the way home. With some sweet butter, ham from my favorite store, and some crusty bread, it took all of two minutes to prepare dinner. It took about as long to open the bottle of wine! For dessert, I luxuriated in reading a chapter from my book, La Seine and saved on the calories.
It was early to bed as I needed to be in good shape for next day’s meeting with my Notaire, or real estate lawyer, something I hoped to do completely in French.
Day 2 – February 7, 2020
Waking up early the following day was made palatable by the fact I could pluck Couvreur’s delicious croissant from the freezer and throw it into the oven as I quickly showered. As I pulled it out, I examined its exterior: puffy and golden-brown. When sliced in half there were crumbs everywhere, another good sign plus it smelled of butter. In short, it had all the attributes of a perfect croissant au beurre. I added some fig jam and sat down with my café au lait for a deliciously simple petit déjeuner. No extra butter, though, as the French consider that a sacrilege. Considering that butter already accounts for a quarter of the croissant’s ingredients, an extra pad would be de trop.
THE MARVELS OF PARIS’ METRO
The metro was the quickest way to get to my early morning appointment with my notaire. I hopped on the train, made one correspondence (connection) and was there in a flash. Metro trips are always full of surprises. Once Ed and I witnessed a Guignol puppet show on a train between two Metro stops. This time the car was serenaded by someone playing La Vie en Rose on an accordion. How classically Parisian! This was followed by a panhandler asking for money but doing so in the most elegantly phrased French. The gentleman even used the subjunctive tense properly (worth a Euro in and of itself!) and then politely wished us all a pleasant day and “Bon Appétit.” In France, life revolves around food.
The appointment with the notaire was quick and successfully executed in French, thank you very much! In no time I was on my way to the Apple store on the Champs Elysée to resolve some iPad and iPhone issues. The building was stunning. Leave it to the French to seek out the most exquisite, old building to embrace modern technology. I found myself taking photos as if I were touring an historic site that had been modernized but still maintained the integrity and beauty of its original antique structure. But I couldn’t linger as I had lunch plans. I agree with the French that life should be centered around food.
LANDING A TABLE AT A PARISIAN HOT SPOT
Lunch for set for high noon with Jane Bertch, my friend who runs a Paris cooking school. We choose Mokonuts, a trendy, small restaurant in the 11th Arrondisement owned by Japanese American Moko Hirayama—who belongs to the same culinary organization as Jane and I do, Les Dames d’Escoffier—and her Daniel-trained, Lebanese-born husband, Omar Koreitem.
Jane recounted how she had first met Moko. At the time, Moko had just made a major career change from her job as a corporate lawyer in London. She moved to Paris where she studied pastry arts at La Durée. One day when Moko was delivering an order of cookies to a small restaurant where Jane was dining, its owner introduced her to her fellow American. Jane and Moko became fast friends. Fast forward: now Moko and her chef husband reign supreme over a gem of a restaurant which is so successful that it is almost impossible to secure a reservation. Read Melissa Clark’s NYT’s article to learn why and promise yourself to fight for a table on your next trip to Paris:
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/22/dining/mokonuts-paris-omar-koreitem-moko-hirayama.html
THE SIREN OF A SALE
After a sinfully delicious lunch I left Jane to casually stroll around the neighborhood. On one of the quiet back streets I found a tiny boutique having a major sale. The siren of a reduced price was too tempting to resist. Inside I bought myself a birthday present: the world’s longest, multi-colored, wool scarf made in Scotland. The store clerk wrapped it around my neck showing me how a French woman would wear it. Head held high, with a touch of feigned arrogance, I walked out of the store transformed.
Closeby, I found the Viaduc des Arts, a series of artisanal shops located underneath an elevated former railroad track-turned park like New York City’s High Line. I had noticed on my way in from the airport the day before a number of smashed store front windows. The taxi driver told me this was the result of protestors throwing rocks during the demonstrations. None of the windows had been repaired as the protests were on-going. Ironically, the people who suffered the most during the continuing strikes and marches early in the year have been the small shop owners who could afford the disruption of business the least.
SPRING HAS SPRUNG
I walked back to my apartment on the upper level of the Viaduct which is beautifully landscaped. It was heartening to see the early flowering trees in bloom indicating spring was not far off. En route back to the apartment, I picked up dinner at a local charcuterie: a Bouchée à la Reine—a savory pastry filled with mushrooms and pieces of sweetbreads in a cream sauce—plus a serving of Ratatouille. It was good to relax at home, turn on some music and enjoy a simple meal and a glass of wine.
Check out my blog next week to see how my recent trip to Paris ended. Read how I managed to slip into a local Parisian existence for a week plus have lunch with the richest man in France. Considering I speak French, was by myself, and had a fabulous scarf around my neck most days, it was invigorating enjoying a city through the lens of a wannabe Parisienne, at least for the duration of my stay!